


See

by piginapoketuesday



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood, M/M, Neck Kissing, Tenderness, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 14:01:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7760641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piginapoketuesday/pseuds/piginapoketuesday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their first honest touch after the Fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	See

For once, Will did not feel anxiety bubbling under his skin. In this hazy half-death, pain seemed both inevitable and understandable. He could sit with pain. It was almost comfortable, just thick heat and blood, clothes that had become a second skin, and the easy twinge of Hannibal's needle. Part of that might have been the whiskey, or the syringe, or the memory of waves in his lungs. He couldn't remember how they got to this moment, in this dim, warm place, together, alive. He couldn't remember a time when the air didn't smell like blood and sweat and Hannibal.

"Is it dark behind your eyes?" Hannibal asked, gravel in his voice.

Will wasn't sure if he'd imagined the interruption of his stagnant quiet. "I'm not blind," he responded, speaking to a dream.

"But you don't see me."

Will did see, in blurry shadows and red. If he blinked, he could focus. He didn't want to focus. "I see enough."

Hannibal licked his bloody mouth, exhausted, and a short, broken grunt escaped him.

Confused by the sound, Will grasped at Hannibal's leg. "Don't," he said softly.

Hannibal bowed his head. "I am no longer freed by the prospect of death."

Will was almost comforted by the admission. "I'll go with you." He didn't recognize his own voice.

Hannibal touched the slick shirt clinging to Will's ribs. His fingers trembled.

Unable to control himself in this divine pull, Will leaned closer, closing his eyes. His lips felt so tender.

Hannibal opened his mouth, giving voice to uneven breaths. He turned his head, nuzzled gently at Will's warm throat, and offered a tentative kiss to the muscle there. His bloody tongue left an indecent trail.

Will's chest tightened. The lingering press of Hannibal's lips was too gentle, almost fearful. So this - this foreign, hemorrhaging touch - was love. Senseless; castle of glass. A soft sound of surrender welled in his throat under Hannibal's attention. His fingers found their way to the hair at the base of Hannibal's neck, clean cut and stiff with blood and salt.

Wet tears filled the lines under Hannibal's eyes; not streaming, soaking. They painted Will's neck a watercolor bruise.

Will was struck by a pang of loss, imagining death in his skin, in Hannibal's lips, freezing them in the unfinished moment. But he stayed warm and supple there, soothing goosebumps on a free man's neck.

Hannibal considered a few impossible words, and he was still for a moment, allowing their kinetic possibility to taint the air.

The honesty in that pause was returned with Will closing his fingers in Hannibal's hair, grasping. He felt the weight of it settle in his chest. A different sort of death, and life. His answer was soft, complete with the promised ache. "I know."


End file.
